Are you really a man, or just a saint?
by SSUqbar
Summary: I have no real clue what this is but I think it is an one-sided Valjean and Javert romance. Well, it may become more if you want a sequel. Regardless I own nothing related to Les Miserables in any of its multiple formats. This is technically inspired by the 2012 musical film.
1. Chapter 1

AN: I really should be writing Chance to Hope; but there seems to be a lack of inspiration. So you get this.

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Chapter 1

I stood silently before Monseiur Madeline - the convict mayor of Montriel - his office was modestly furnished besides the ornate desk that came with his official position. I had just informed him that I had made a false report against him. I deserved to be dismissed; but as he spoke I could hear some sort of strangled relief. Some kind of realisation that even I made mistakes; however, this one could have cost the man his freedom and his daughter her father.

He did not dismiss me; just sent me on my way with no form of punishment. That at least I could rectify myself. I was about to make my leave, but I was called back.

"Javert." I made no sound but stood still and waited. "I mean it. You have done your duty; I see no real sin in that."

"Real Sin?"

"Well it is not to me. It is the duty at fault not you."

"My duty and I are the same. I know little else."

"I had noticed yes."

"Am I dismissed?"

"You may return to your post, inspector." I bowed my head - although I was facing the door with my back to the mayor - in repsonce. I left the man to his own duties.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: I seem to be in a Les Miserables overdrive at the moment.

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Chapter 2

It was well into nightfall as I returned to my rented accomadation. Oddly I noted that the porter was actually doing his job for once rather than leaving all the work to the housekeeper. If I was being frank she was an honest sort, very almost pleseant company. However, I was not expecting a shocked look on her face in the direction of me.

"Inspector, there is a parcel for you?"

"A parcel?" I was equally puzzled by the ordinary brown papered thing, that she held in her hands. I could see a corner had been partially torn. "I trust neither of you attempted to open it since that would be rather uncouth."

"Not against the law."

"No; just my privacy." I held out my hand for her to place the parcel into. "If I may?" Once done I went to the room that I rented from her.

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I stared at the parcel, I swiftly realised it would do me no harm. Regardless, I was still apprehensive of the normality of it. No one ever sent me anything. Gingerly I peeled away the paper from the corner that had already been violated. Eventually I came to a box lid, opening it I saw a note. Finally I would have a name to curse, but there was no name. Just handwritting that I would recognise anywhere. Monsieur Madeline. Why was the mayor sending me things? I glared at the note as if it had wronged me personally; which of course was unfair to the stationary. Anyway, the note read: 'It seems to me dear Inspector that you would prefer the doing over the staring at others attempts at the doing...' I stared at it some more hopeing that the mayors meaning would become clear. '...I was uncertain if you had any creative inclination. As such I have given you things that should have multiple uses. Hopeing these will be of some use to you in a way that does not include work, for you do enough of that as it is.' By the end I had crumpled the note, the mayorwas trying to encourage my relaxation via creativity. Presonally I disliked the useless pursuit of it. However, the mayor had clearly veiled this order as a request, he wanted me to do something that was not related to policing; despite it being all I knew.

More out of obligation than anything I pulled the small journal and waterpaints from the box, I was torn between keeping them and destroying them. He himself had said it; that I had little creative inclination, but something about his concern made me feel just slightly lighter. I could feel myself moving closer to a locked draw in the only substantial piece of furniture I had. Within was a set of charcoals which I had personally encased in wood, next to them was a journal similar in style to this new one from the mayor. This one however was from my time as a guard in Toulon; not that anyone then had cared what I had done with what little free time I had. Although, I had kept sketches of each guard, officer and prisoner. I instinctively knew where in the journal 24601 fell, but I was apprehensive as to his face. What if I saw the mayor staring back at me from the page?

I easily opened the aging journal, as it fell open directly on the page with Valjean's face. As it was, I was correct to be apprehensive since the mayor's face was eerieely similar to that of 24601. There was only one thing I could really do, and that was to enquire of my superior if this face matched his own.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: You'll be pleased that this little story is done. Reviews as always are appreciated.

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Chapter 3

"Monsieur?" I was waiting outside Madeline's office on an afternoon I had away from the station. The older journal had been burning a hoe in my breast pocket for almost two weeks, but I did not want to be in uniform for this. What if I was right, and the mayor was indeed Jean Valjean? What if I was wrong and Monsieur Madeline took offence at being mistaken for a convict?

I tapped gently on the double set of office doors. I tried talking through them again but since these were English oak; I doubted it would do any good.

"Monsieur Madeline?" One of the doors burst open and out swept neither the mayor or his clerk but the Captain of the National Guard. "Captain, might I enquire what you are doing in le maire's office?"

"I can see you are not on duty this afternoon Inspector, might I ask the same?"

"I had recalled something I overlooked in my earlier report, I was hopeing to set right the error as soon as possible."

"You never overlook anything."

"I am capable of human errors, captain. Had I known you were here I would have come back at a more convient time." Oddly I saw the captain pale slightly, as I turned to a new voice.

"Gentlemen, what are you both doing outside my office?" It was the mayor. I opted to wait for the captain to speak as he had been here first.

"It is nothing that can not wait 'til morning, Monsieur le Maire. have a good day, Inspector." Both myself and the mayor could tell he was not being honest with his tone. With that he was gone. The mayor turned to me, with a thoughtful expression.

"Javert, was the captain in my office when you got here?"

"I interrupted his leaving, why?"

"This door was locked; only myself and Rosaire have the key, and since I sent him home after your earlier report."

"The captain should not have been in there?"

"No. Although he may be able to pick locks." Gingerly Monsieur Madeline pushed open the door to see his workspace in perfect order bar one black enveloped letter on the desk. "That was not there earlier."

"Perhaps the captain left it?"

"I have no family Javert, I should not be getting mail in that colour of envelope."

"Very well, perhaps it is a warning? Or a threat?"

"The latter makes more sense given my position, but why would the captain threaten me?"

"He could merely be the messenger."

"I appreciate you trying to ease the tension but jokes are not your area, are they?"

"I was not aware I made one."

"It's mail, and you said messenger not deliverer; which is more common for here."

"I was unaware there was a different word for it."

"Clearly." We both stayed still, looking at the letter. "I am going to open it."

"What? No, there could be something toxic in there."

"It is addressed to me, not you. I will open it."

"But what if there is a toxin inside it?"

"Then I know the town is in safe hands."

"Whose?"

"Yours." Before I could protest further the mayor had crossed the room and opened the letter. Nothing happened. "See just a letter." Then there was a gasp.

"What is it?"

"A sketch of you, in a compromising position, I think."

"That's not possible." I strode over and looked over the mayor's shoulder at the parchment he was holding. I paled and rubbed my neck. "Obviously that is possible."

"So this is you then?"

"Yes." I walked back aroundthe desk and sat on one of the chairs opposite it.

"Care to explain?"

"No."

"How could anyone get this close to you, asleep; and long enough to sketch it?"

"I do not know. I was unaware that existed." I gestured at the parchment.

"Do you recall this night?" I blushed slightly.

"Yes, sir."

"You had been with someone, hadn't you?" I breifly nodded. "Who?"

"Does it matter?"

"Depends, are you married to them? Do you love them?"

"We were a body to each other in a moment of weakness."

"Weakness? So you care nothing for this person?"

"They were a distraction. The one I want, I know I can not have."

"You do love someone then?" I groaned and closed my eyes, before reopening them.

"As a guard in Toulon there was a man who called to me. I hide any desire I had for him; every so often I think I have found him again. But it has never been true."

"What was he like?" I swallowed, knowing I now had to voice something I had never voiced before.

"In some ways he is like you, Monsieur."

"Me?" I nodded.

"I can see in you years of physical labour, it has made you strong. Moreso than any other. To me, you are the at peace version of him. If only he had, had better fortune. He could easily be you. I fear that sometimes."

"Fear?"

"I have to catch myself before I call you his name, I do not think you would like to be called a convicts name."

"Javert, what is his name?"

"Jean Valjean. I have a sketch of him, from then." I moved my hand to my breast pocket and pulled out the older journal.

"Did he give you that?" I shook my head.

"But he was the first convict I sketched, all before him are officers or guards as I was."

"May I see?"

"I had hoped you could put something from my mind. I thought you were him, for so many weeks but I must know. Are you? Is Monsieur Madeline really Jean Valjean; or am I haunted by ghosts that yet live?" I passed over the journal, page already open. I could see the mayor pale and pale and pale; he looked like a ghost. "Madeline?"

"I am Jean Valjean, I am 24601. I had no idea you felt like that about me." He removed his gaze from the page back to me. I said nothing. " I was wrong, you do have creative talent. I was looking for the wrong talent."

"Meaning."

"I expected poetry in your soul not an artists hand."

"Seems to me you are the one with poetry in their soul, Valjean."

"Well I do like reading." My lip curved slightly.

"I am curious why you, as a godly man; are not screaming at me about my sins taking me to hell?"

"Love is love, Inspector. Be that between a man and woman, two women or indeed two men." I swallowed, maybe there was hope, if Valjean was a saintly man but still a man; than hope was real.

"Are you really a man, or just a saint?"

"I am just a man, Javert. No more than any other." I forced my eyes to meet le maire's. I stood at attention, like a soldier, I moved away from the chair and towards Valjean with the grace of a general.

"What are you doing?" I ignored his apprehensive voice and made my way closer to him. Eventually, I was in front of him and I was gently pulling his arms around my neck. Gingerly I placed mine is a similar posture, until my cheek was resting on his shoulder.

"I believe this is called a hug?" All I knew was that I did not want to let Valjean go, not again; not after all this time.


End file.
